Page 94 of Already Callin’ You Mine

It was a common joke in college when I started reading romance. Not necessarily from Owen, but some of the other guys we knew threw it around like a hacky sack. At one point, I printed one out and laminated it to pull from my wallet and try to hand it to them every time they brought it up.

“Please don’t tell me you still have that in your wallet too.”

I don’t. Willa officially confiscated it years ago after she caught a glimpse. While she didn’t know the history behind it—and I wasn’t about to admit to it—she assumed the worst, laying into me about how it was toxic and immature to be in possession of such a thing. I didn’t—don’t—disagree, so I let her toss it.

Turning to Owen, I smirk, shrugging softly, not admitting to anything. He can believe what he wants.

“That’s not what I was going to say. I was going to say that we’ve hit a bump in the road. That’s all.”

Owen snorts. “That’s what you’re calling this? She escorted you from her house. After avoiding you all week. Immediately after sleeping with you. And here I thought these books had taught you how to please a woman.”

My smirk falls and I glare at him. As my best friend since childhood, he can get away with saying these kinds of things without me punching him. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to though.

My sleepover with Presley wasn’t the catalyst. It was…beautiful. Perfect. Everything I could have wanted in my first time with a partner. Getting to see that side of Presley was incredible. Awe inspiring. There aren’t enough words to express my feelings about being the one she trusted to go there with. To show me her whole self.

Unless…she didn’t enjoy it.

No, I would know. There would have been signs.

Like her telling you to get lost…

No. That’s not what this is. She did enjoy it. The light in her eyes and the palpable joy radiating off her as I held her wouldn’t have been there if she hadn’t. Her freak-out last night wasn’t because she didn’t enjoy it. It’s because she did. And now she’s afraid.

I have to make her not afraid.

But how?

I reach for another book. I don’t recognize it, but the wolf on the cover tells me that it’s probably not what I’m looking for. A good shifter book can certainly hit the spot, but not today. Continuing to scan the shelves, I land on a whole shelf of Pippa Grant. Jackpot. She’ll have something. The rom-com goddess herself will know how to solve my issue.

Plus, we’ll get a good laugh while doing it.

“Have you considered just accepting it?” Owen asks, breaking my concentration. “You were dead set on hating her for so long. Maybe that simply can’t be overcome.”

“It can. We’re different people now. We’re just in our third act breakup, that’s all. We’re gonna be fine.”

As soon as I figure out how to get us on the other side.

“Your what?”

“Our third act breakup. The part of the book where the couple breaks up, sometimes for a silly reason, sometimes because of something legit, but then gets back together after they’ve both removed their heads from their asses.”

“I don’t recommend telling Presley that she has her head up her ass. For what that’s worth.”

Owen grabs another Pippa Grant book, opens to the first page, and starts reading. Flirting with the Frenemy—good choice. He’ll like Wyatt Morgan.

Sighing, I turn to him. I know he’s supportive of whatever I choose to do—he isn’t standing in the middle of the romance section of the library with me for nothing—but I’m not sure he realizes the spiral this has sent me into. That when the door slammed in my face last night, I saw the future I’d started to daydream about crumble. Fall apart in a single second. And that I am desperate to get it back.

“I just have to help Presley understand that’s what’s going on and that this—us—is what she wants. That I’m in this. For her and Otis. That…” I swallow hard, pushing myself to say the words out loud for the first time. “That they’re the future I want.”

Owen nods, pressing his lips together. “Okay then. Let’s get you through this third act breakup.”

And this is why he’s my best friend. My ride or die. Because he gets it.

“Oh, did I hear third act breakup?” Kenzie Wilder, the town librarian, coos, appearing next to me. “I love a good third act breakup. I know not everyone does, but give me that overly dramatic angst any day.”

She waggles her eyebrows, like she’s bringing us in on a well-kept and scandalous secret.

“Me too,” I agree.